


Lone Wolf

by Caro Dee (Caro_Dee)



Series: Fantasy [5]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Inaccurate Wolf Biology, M/M, Mating Displays, POV First Person, Primitive Fetish, Sexual Dream, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-21
Updated: 2011-04-21
Packaged: 2017-10-18 10:57:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/188225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caro_Dee/pseuds/Caro%20Dee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair dreams about the wolfman and makes a decision.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lone Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> This originally appeared in My Mongoose, August 2004. I (and my shifting tenses) would like to thank ALF for betaing.

The two-legged wolf runs through the forest. He runs fast and hard, but he can't escape the sounds and scents behind him. He howls in misery, face wet, and occasionally one of his pack will howl back acknowledging him. It's small comfort. The throbbing between his legs drives the rhythm of his pounding paws, urging him faster, away from the growls and snarls and whimpers, the scent of blood and lust still clear on the wind.

It is the mating season for the pack, but not for him. Never for him. Back when he was still growing into his adulthood, he'd been as desperate as any other young male to win a mate. He played rough, practicing his fighting skills with the others, but knew that if he wasn't strong enough to beat his playmates, he wasn't strong enough to win one of the females as mate.

He'd been shocked and delighted when he made the discovery that his own forepaw brought pleasure and that there was no need for a female in heat within scent range. The other pack members were amused when his rutting continued even after the mating season ended.

But one year he decided he'd grown enough to challenge for one of the females. Choosing carefully, he went after one of the younger, less desirable females, whose coat was thin and who had a slight limp that never quite healed, but who was friendly and sweet and whom he remembered as a chubby, playful pup. He had to fight the beta male sniffing around her and it took all of his strength, quickness and wiles to survive and even then blood striped his naked hide. He drove off the other wolf and turned to his female, howling triumphantly. She whined a little and wagged her tail, and then, to his complete and utter shock, she snarled and bit him, refusing him as mate. He retreated, torn and bloody, but the deepest pain was in his heart.

He'd challenged once more the following year and was rejected again. After that, he didn't try again, knowing there was something wrong with him, something the females sensed instinctively. He watched the pack members around him grow old and die and then their pups in turn, while he lived unchanging within the pack, valued and loved for his contribution but always ultimately alone.

He leaps over a tree lying in his path, wipes impatiently at his damp cheeks as he runs. The wind tosses his long, tangled hair into his eyes, blurring his vision, and he pushes it out of the way. The wind shifts and his pace falters. There's a strange scent coming to him, one that's oddly familiar yet he can't quite place it. He comes to a halt, lifts his head and sniffs the wind. Then he recognizes it and whines in surprise. Under the scent of the pack, he has always smelled different, not like a wolf at all. The scent that comes to him now is like his own. Not wolf.

Wary but curious, he follows the scent trail, moving smoothly and silently, not wanting to startle his quarry. The creature is just ahead and when he sees it, he stops. Two legs. Like him. Like _him!_ A jolt of excitement runs through his cock. Mate? Never alone again? _Yes!_

The dreamer turns to face the oncoming wolf. They stare silently at each other. The curiosity and yearning on the wolfman's face mirrors the dreamer's own heart. The dreamer takes a step closer, arms opening wide in invitation.

Excitement, nervousness, longing flit across the handsome face as the wolfman hesitantly approaches. The dreamer admires the sleek muscles, the animal grace, the beautiful erection. He wants to touch, to hold, to... love?

The wolfman is closing in, a slow joy spreading over his face as his arm reaches out. Just before their fingers meet, the dreamer begins to fade out. The last sight he sees is the wolfman leaping forward, face frantic, a howl of denial and loss splitting the night.

The dreamer wakes up.

* * *

"Jim!" I yell and, heart pounding, stare up at the dark ceiling of my bedroom. Gasping for breath, I remember to whisper quietly, "Just a dream, Jim. I'm okay."

Still, I hear the sounds of Jim climbing out of bed and coming down the stairs. Shit. Stupid to wake Jim up for no reason. I breathe deeply, trying to calm myself.

"You okay, Sandburg?" Jim is a shadowed figure moving forward towards the bed. I sit up, staring in the dark. Because I can't really see anything, the last sight of the wolfman's face, grief-stricken and howling, lies superimposed on the dark blankness of Jim's face and tears at my heart.

"I had a dream," I say, distracted enough to not immediately realize I'm telling him more than I should.

"A nightmare?"

"I dreamt about you. You were living in the wilderness with a pack of wolves. There were no other humans anywhere nearby. You were all alone."

"Lone Wolf Ellison," Jim said, his tone dry.

Is it my imagination that hears a faint pain in Jim's voice? I strain to see him in the dark and give up.

"You know, Jim," I say slowly. "You're not alone. I'm here."

Was that a slight hesitation?

"I know that, Chief." Jim's voice is quiet. He reaches out and tousles my hair affectionately. Does his touch linger? "Go back to sleep now. We've got a busy day tomorrow with the Foley case."

"Okay. Good night." Obediently, I lie back down and watch Jim move through the darkness to the doorway. He stands there a moment, silhouetted against the faint light, looking back at me. Then he shuts the door and I hear him head back upstairs.

I lie there, staring up into the darkness, and think about the meaning of dreams. I know, from studying dream analysis, that the dream is always about the dreamer. That stark, terrible loneliness... is that my subconscious adding up subliminal cues and whacking me over the head with it or is it a reflection of my own emotional neediness and longing? Or maybe it's just my hope that Jim's loneliness is strong enough to make him turn towards me? The strength of the dream disturbs me; I can feel it pushing me from behind, urging me to action that might be ill-conceived and potentially tragic.

And yet, there is the other part of the dream. I can't discount that either. What if it's true? What if I am the one for Jim? A fierce longing wells up in me. _Jim._ To touch him. To belong with him, lives intertwined forever. God....

Really, that's what this is about, isn't it? Am I willing to risk what we have for what we might have and pay the possible price of being wrong about this? No, I'm not wrong. Not about myself at least. The question becomes, how can I not tell Jim? This feeling burning inside me -- he has a right to know. Then it will be up to Jim to decide whether or not he can or wants to go there.

Underneath the terror, I can feel a growing sense of rightness. I take a deep breath and tell my frantically thumping heart to chill. That's the decision then. I'll tell Jim tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> This series is currently unfinished but I do still intend to resolve it.


End file.
